Mrs. Major gave a sigh that suggested more than she dared say.
She sighed again when the game was concluded. Mr. Marrapit sat on. “Quite like old times,” Mrs. Major murmured. “Good night, Mr. Marrapit; and don't lose hope. Remember my dream.”
“Quite like old times,” Mr. Marrapit murmured.
The masterly woman ascended the stairs rubbing her hands.
V.
Mrs. Major ate an excellent breakfast upon the following morning. She was upon the very threshold of winning into paradise, but not a tremor of nervousness did she betray or feel. This was a superb woman.
At eleven she left the house and took a walk—rehearsing the manner in which she had arranged to burst in upon Mr. Marrapit with the cat, checking again the arguments with which she would counter and lull any doubts he might raise.
At twelve she entered the hut.
Mrs. Major was in the very act of leaving the building, the cat beneath her arm, when a sound of voices and footsteps held her upon the threshold. She listened; the sounds drew near. She closed the door; the sounds, now loud, approached the hut. She ran to the inner room; a hand was laid upon the outer latch. She closed the door; applied her eye to a crack; George and Mary entered.